


Sick Day

by storiewriter



Series: Bentley Farkas fics [16]
Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: Alternate Universe - Transcendence, Gen, Transcendence AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-24
Updated: 2015-09-24
Packaged: 2018-04-23 05:46:00
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,343
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4865321
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/storiewriter/pseuds/storiewriter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bentley, accustomed to getting sick every other year, simply sighed and built himself a giant pile of pillows up against the wall and got the tissue and tissue recycler ready on the side table.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sick Day

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Zilleniose](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zilleniose/gifts).



> Written when I was sick and miserable, for the most part. I think I've gotten over it, but who knows? I could have something new!

            It started with a stuffy nose. Bentley, accustomed to getting sick every other year, simply sighed and built himself a giant pile of pillows up against the wall and got the tissue and tissue recycler ready on the side table. When he went to bed, it was sitting up, cradled in the pillows that Dipper kept pulling from somewhere.

            It continued the next morning with thick sinus drainage and a headache that made Bentley want to cry and snap something. Torako came in before her class with a giant mug of sinus-relieving tea, honey mixed in to battle the bitter tang, and set it on the bedside table. When she swooped down to kiss him on the forehead, he pushed his fingertips against her shoulder.

            “Don’t need you getting sick,” Bentley murmured, dragging the mug of tea off the table and cradling it against his chest. He peered up at her and frowned. “Who’ll make my tea if you get sick?”

            Torako laughed and kissed him anyways. “I’m strong and athletic and crap, I’ll be fine. And if I do get sick, we have a 24 hour nanny just waiting to smother us in attention.”

            Bentley groaned and wiggled so that he was sitting more upright. The mug was warm even through his sweatshirt and he wondered if Torako had burned the tea leaves again. “Don’t remind me. He keeps coming back with more pillows and blankets and I think the last one had a bloodstain on the corner.”

            She grinned and hefted her bag on her back. “Sucks to be you. Well, if I get sick, you’ll have company—I’ve got to go to class now, though, so it won’t be too soon.”

            “Hopefully never,” Bentley mumbled, and he blew on the tea. “Can you get the hardcopies my Science of Sigils prof is handing out? Dr. Renchestar, in Monaliu Hall, Office—”

            “434, I know. Man, why don’t they have TranspoPods? Stairs are a pain,” Torako whined, and backed out of the room. She waved, said, “Sleep, okay? Get better.”

            Bentley smiled at her and waved her out of the room. “No promises, but I’ll try.”

            She rolled her eyes and shut the door, and once again the only light on was the dim one overhead, just bright enough that he wasn’t straining his eyes to see but also low enough that his headache wasn’t made a million times worse.

            He shut his eyelids halfway and took a sip of the tea. It was a touch too hot, so he lowered it again and sighed, trying to concentrate on the way the hot ceramic felt against his hands, or how the blanket brushed his toes when he moved them, or even just the deep breaths he was still able to take. Bentley really hoped this wouldn’t take a turn the way it had when he was eleven and developed an odd magical strain of pneumonia. Opening his eyes, Bentley hissed through his teeth and flicked the mug with his forefinger twice to ward off bad luck.

            There was a disturbance in the air, and Bentley turned his head slightly to see Dipper floating above the bed, a lamb under one arm and a nightmare under the other.

            “Sorry,” Dipper said, eyes glowing. “Fluffernutter didn’t want to leave Mani alone; there was a bit of a bad situation when we found Mani and he didn’t want to leave her alone so soon.”

            “Hey Fluffs,” Bentley said, pressing his mug against his chest so that he could reach over and grab a tissue. Shifting his knees up, he held the mug between his thighs and his abdomen so that he could blow into the tissue. “How’re you?”

            Fluffernutter let out a good-natured series of eldritch grumbles that set the throbbing in Bentley’s head just a bit higher and kicked his legs. Dipper grinned and set both the nightmare and the dream onto the bed. Fluffernutter went to the end, faced Bentley, and laid down.

            “Yeah, he does that,” Bentley agreed despite not knowing exactly what Fluffernutter said. He set the tissue to the side and lifted the tea. He blew, took another sip, and sighed the moment he finished swallowing. It really was the best tea for a sore, congested throat. He set his head back and closed his eyes.

            Bentley felt the lamb lay down next to him, up against his side. He knew it was proximity that made him relax and feel as though he could sleep but it felt so real that he didn’t even want to lift the mug to his lips and take another sip.

            “Dipper I need to finish this,” he murmured, cracking his eyes open after thinking hard about it. Dipper floated right in front of him, and years of this exact happenstance was the only thing that kept Bentley from jumping out of his skin.

            “No you don’t,” Dipper said. “Lemme have your tea and I’ll take care of that headache and gross snottish ickiness for you.”

            Bentley was just awake enough to raise his eyebrow. “That’s all gain for you, you don’t need my tea. All you really need is the junk.”

            “But I want the tea,” Dipper whined, thankfully quieter than he had three days ago when Bentley refused to get him ice cream at the store. “What about half? Can I have half for taking care of that grossness?”

            “I’ll never understand you,” Bentley said, but Dipper had already brought a lamb for him and about three blankets and seven pillows and a giant stuffed bear which was now at the very back of the pillows and made a good base for the cushions to stack up. So Bentley sighed and passed the giant mug of tea over. “Sure, it’s a deal.”

            There was a burst of blue flames, and Dipper ran his hand through Bentley’s sweat-damp hair. Almost immediately, the headache was gone, and he could feel his sinuses clearing up. He inhaled deep, then looked over as Dipper pulled the mug of tea from his grasp and immediately downed half of it. Dipper didn’t even swallow; just poured into his throat as Bentley watched, half-disgusted and half-fascinated.

             “Does Dad know you can do that?” Bentley asked, Dipper tipping the mug back up. Dipper pressed his lips together in a line, a dribble of tea at the corner of one mouth.

            “No. He doesn’t need to, either; the visits we have are academic enough as it is.” Dipper wiped the tea off his chin and passed the mug over.

            Bentley rubbed the rim with his shirt and laughed—softly, because his throat was just a bit sore and he didn’t want to make it worse. “I’m sure he’d disagree.” He raised the tea to his lips and sipped at it, eyes half-shut.

            Dipper huffed, then curled around the other side of the lamb, toes nudging Bentley’s calves under the blanket. “You should put that down and sleep.”

            “But Torako made it for me,” Bentley murmured before drinking another mouthful. “I don’t wanna waste it.”

            With a grumble, Dipper squirmed his head onto Bentley’s ribs and draped one of his wings across Bentley’s knees. Bentley yawned into the mug, eyes nearly closed.

            “Dipper,” Bentley said, extending the ‘r’ as he yawned again. “Stop it. I’m not fooled.”

            He then made the monumental mistake of looking down at Dipper. His stupid dumb demon brother was staring up at him with the widest, most adorable eyes that Bentley knew. “Please?” Dipper asked, and dammit there Bentley went, putting the mug on the side table.

            “I hate you,” Bentley mumbled, resigned to his fate—once Dipper pulled out the puppy eyes, it was over for him.

            Dipper purred in response, the vibrations rumbling from his cheek into Bentley’s chest and settling there. Bentley sighed, a smile already tugging at his cheek as he wrapped his arm around Dipper’s shoulder and settled his hand above his brother’s side, fingers brushing the soft wool of the slumbering lamb.

            Nearly instantly, Bentley was asleep, cocooned in warmth and love.


End file.
